


Flames. On the side of my face.

by FrenchTwistResistance



Series: I’ve Always Been Crazy But It’s Kept Me from Going Insane [9]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, I just want caos to be a sitcom where hot middle-aged ladies kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:56:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22689613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchTwistResistance/pseuds/FrenchTwistResistance
Summary: Hilda’s upset about a bad date, and so much more besides.
Relationships: Hilda Spellman & Zelda Spellman, Hilda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Series: I’ve Always Been Crazy But It’s Kept Me from Going Insane [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597594
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Flames. On the side of my face.

Hilda’s out in the back shed. It’s been a neglected heap since they built the big garage, but they still keep a few working implements in there as well as several parted-out mowers and a few half bags of decaying mulch and various ancient miscellany. The roof’s about three quarters to caving in, and the door’s off most of its hinges. And Hilda’s in her oldest pair of overalls, furiously throwing broken bric-a-brac into a wheelbarrow and cursing as she goes.

She’d not made breakfast that morning. She’d merely turned on the coffee pot for Zelda and herself had eaten one half-stale blueberry muffin and had high-tailed it out of the house without a word to anyone (everyone else had still been asleep anyway, but even if they hadn’t been, she’d have been silent).

Zelda had been at a late dark scripture study until all hours the night before, and Sabrina had gone to the drive-in with Harvey, and Ambrose had been playing online chess, headphones on. A typical Friday evening by most accounts. And now, Saturday morning, Hilda would usually be cheerfully making pancakes and then trying to get Sabrina or Zelda to commit to going to the farmers market with her. And they’d not-so-secretly flip a coin. Hilda had always thought they’d been flipping for who wouldn’t have to go, but really their protestations were all for show and they had, all these years, been vying for who would get some one-on-one time with her. 

Zelda’s standing in the doorway of the shed, rigidly and pointedly not touching any part of the crumbling structure, smoking a cigarette, her free hand on her hip.

“What in heaven’s gotten into you, sister?” Zelda says.

Hilda pauses dismantling the rusted rototiller and turns her head:

“Nothing! Why?”

“This is not the kind of cleaning one does when nothing’s the matter.” Hilda harrumphs and turns back to the rototiller. “One cleans the bathroom when nothing’s the matter. One cleans the kitchen when one is annoyed. One dusts the china hutch and all the knickknacks when something’s the matter. One starts a tedious, unfulfilling, and nearly impossible cleaning task when something’s gotten into them.”

“Interesting theory,” Hilda says, still dicking with the stripped screws and splintering handle.

It’s silent for a moment, and then Zelda says lightly,

“You know, there are a lot of interesting things in here I could use to kill you. Many of which I’ve always wanted to try. And you do always tell me whatever secrets I want to know on your dying breath.” 

Hilda throws down the rototiller and zips around to face her fully, snaps,

“You wouldn’t dare! You’re not even mad!” 

Zelda shrugs and ashes her cigarette onto Hilda’s dirty canvas tennis shoes. Hilda groans and takes off her gloves. She recognizes she’s been caught, and as much as she had wanted to be frustrated and confused alone, she kind of wants someone to talk to.

“You have to promise not to make fun of me,” Hilda says. Zelda raises her eyebrows. “Too much, anyway.”

Zelda cocks her head, seems to consider her.

“If you put your gloves back on, I’ll take that to mean the conversation is over, and I will leave you to your self-imposed punishment.”

Hilda nods. Zelda nods. Hilda sits on the rat-eaten seat of a riding lawnmower and begins,

“I went on a date last night—”

“Before you go into too much detail, do take into account I do not have a pair of gloves with which to signal my discomfort, and while I am curious about certain of Miss Wardwell’s… skills… I still find her distasteful, untrustworthy, uncouth, and tacky.”

“Noted,” Hilda says. She takes a breath, starts up again: “You’ll be glad to know my date was with Miss Kingston, then.”

Zelda’s posture visibly relaxes a bit, but then her face scrunches with worry and ire. She says, voice clipped,

“What did that mortal do to you? Something untoward? I’ve been craving long pig lately, and she is a particularly well-marbled specimen.”

“No! No, nothing like that. She is perfectly polite. Brought me flowers and everything.”

“So? What’s the problem? She’s some repressed Baptist?”

“No,” Hilda says. “I don’t know, maybe. We didn’t discuss that. In fact, we didn’t really discuss anything.”

Zelda hums.

“So you got right down to it, then. Show muscles rather than real strength and stamina?”

Hilda looks up at her, eyes wide and face red:

“Zelds! I swear! No! Would you just let me talk in my own time, please?!”

Zelda rolls her eyes, says,

“Fine.”

Hilda fingers the hem of a glove, flops it around on her knee, contemplates putting it on to end this, but then, in a cathartic rush:

“She’s boring! Not a thought in her brain other than sines, cosines, and bench press. And she’s a bad kisser!”

Zelda laughs. Hilda’s offended at first and then laughs along, clarifies,

“Way too much teeth.”

“And that’s what’s got you so worked up? A disappointing date? Surely you’ve had more of those than exciting ones.” Hilda opens her mouth for an incensed rebuttal, but Zelda continues, “We all have. It’s simple statistics, which I’m sure Miss Kingston could bore you to death with.”

They both laugh again. But as their laughter fades, Hilda grows somber, contemplates the gloves again. Ultimately she says,

“Of course I know that. But I just wanted her to be something so badly.”

Zelda stiffens, says,

“Because you want a way out to your own life.”

Hilda blinks. She hadn’t thought of that in those terms. She searches Zelda’s face, which is now set in a mask she can’t really discern. She wonders about that briefly, but as much as she wonders she also knows she doesn’t want to leave home, leave Zelda. That’s never been her aim. She’s just wanted some fun that’s hers alone.

“It’s not that,” Hilda says. “I just thought maybe if I could mess around and have fun with someone else—someone decent—I could rid myself of Mary Wardwell, and we could all be happy. But Mary is so stimulating. Always has something weird for us to do together. She’s the least boring person I’ve met in ages.”

“Oh,” Zelda says.

They stare at each other another second and then Zelda says,

“I’m going to go boil an egg and read the newspaper. Might hit the farmers market before it closes.”

And she turns to go.

Hilda says toward her retreating form,

“Thank you. For talking to me.”

“It’s what boring people do. Talk,” Zelda says, barely audible.

Hilda puts that sentiment in her pocket, to be dealt with later. Or ever.

xxx

The flowers Mary brings are outrageous—out of season for the region and neon bright. Miss Kingston’s had been conservative and understated and appropriate. 

But Mary’s here unexpectedly on a Tuesday night, holding a bouquet and looking dangerously sexy.

Hilda’s suspicious but invites her in anyway as she mentally flips through which vase might best contain this monstrosity.

Mary ambles in and sucks her teeth, says,

“Nice place you’ve got here.” She eyes all the cursed-people shoes on the shelf lining the entry wall. “Large. Spacious.”

“Yes, thanks. Been in the family for generations,” Hilda says over her shoulder as she rummages in a lower cabinet. She finds the ornate crystal piece she’d been looking for and straightens up to feel Mary beside her, close and unnaturally warm.

“Got any secret passages in this place? A tunnel from solarium to library, perhaps?” Mary says.

Hilda cuts stems over the garbage disposal, runs the cold tap into the chosen vase, says against her better judgment,

“Yes. It’s tunnels all the way down.”

“Show me,” Mary says.

xxx

Mary’s pushing Hilda’s shoulders against the clay wall.

“Would you rather here or wherever this lets out?” Mary says into Hilda’s ear.

“Here,” Hilda says, knowing full well this lets out to the parlor, where Zelda and Sabrina are playing gin rummy.

“And why might that be, my dear?” Mary says, forcing her knee between Hilda’s legs.

“You don’t tell me everything, and so I don’t need to tell you everything,” Hilda says.

Mary laughs, says,

“Fair enough.”


End file.
